


Lend a Helping Hand

by Distracted



Series: The Things That Heal Us [5]
Category: Chicago Fire
Genre: F/M, Gen, Hurt/Comfort, Whump, Whumptober 2020, get it out, no6 - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-26
Updated: 2020-09-26
Packaged: 2021-03-07 22:15:22
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,022
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26665030
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Distracted/pseuds/Distracted
Summary: Sylvie Brett had a splinter. She knows just the person to ask for help.
Series: The Things That Heal Us [5]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1712512
Kudos: 40
Collections: Whumptober 2020





	Lend a Helping Hand

Lend a Helping Hand

“Please, Matt, just get it out,” Slyvie begs and holds her hand up for Matt to see. At first, he can see nothing, and take hold of her wrist, holding her still so he can examine the offending limb. It’s bruising already, a jagged splinter of wood sticking out of the meat of her thumb. The sight makes him wince; he’s had enough splinters to know they hurt, just like a papercut does. 

Her entire hand throbs in time with her heart, and the pain is starting to run up her arm. It's a totally stupid injury and they way she got it isn't helping her mood. 

"What happened?" he asks, concern filled eyes fixed on her face. He lets go of her hand and she pulls it back, pressing it against her chest to protect it. It’s a totally instinctive move and it stirs something fiercely protective inside of him. 

"It's stupid, really," she admits, and feels a blush warm her cheeks. "I slipped on black ice on the last call and grabbed the fence." She shakes her head. "It was a bad one and I didn't really get a chance to look at my hand until we got back."

“I’ll see what I can do,” he promises, and leads her back to his quarters, where there's a first aid kid and privacy. He's charmed and a little amused that she came to him over any of the actual trained, qualified paramedics they have in the house. 

"What didn't you ask Foster? Or Stella?" 

She settles on the chair at his desk. "Oh no.” She shakes her head, a crooked smile on her lips.“I ask either of those two and I'd never hear the end of it." She frowns, absently. "Anyway, I've seen you get splinters out and you've probably had more practice than them two put together."

"Well, there is that," he agrees and kneels, pulling out the first aid kit, rummaging through it to find a chemical ice pack. Digging a splinter that size out is going to hurt, and it’s the best that he can offer her. He activates it and hands it over with a regretful smile. “Best I can do.”

“Thanks.” She takes it with her good hand and lays it gingerly on her palm. It’s already getting cold, and the chill is soothing. The tense throbbing eases and she blows out a relieved breath. 

“Better?” he asks, pulling on a pair of gloves and opening swabs. There’s a single use set of tweezers in the kit and he pulls those out too, ripping open the plastic sleeve. 

“Yes, thanks.” She yawns, covering her mouth with her good hand. 

It’s the backside of a very busy shift and she’s exhausted. A sudden winter storm had slammed the city, dumping snow and freezing the roads. It meant that they’d all barely had a chance to stop, and the constant calls are catching up with her now they’re in a lull. 

“Been a crazy one, huh?” Casey says absently, and lifts the ice pack, setting it aside. It’s even worse than he first thought and he pauses, meeting her eyes. “Are you sure you don’t want someone with actual medical training to take a look at this?” 

She shakes her head. “I trust you.” 

The words send a stab of warmth though him, like he’s just been given an unexpected gift. _Maybe I have,_ he thinks to himself and has to work hard to keep the smile off his face. “Well, okay,” he says and picks up the tweezers, catching hold of the end of the splinter. It’s buried deep and the tweezers slip, making them both jump a little. They’re both too tense, and he wracks his brains for a way to break the tension. “You know, if this was my hand, I’d be using my teeth right now,” he tells her, glancing up just in time to see her wrinkle her nose. “Well, it’s not like there’s many tweezers on a construction job.”

She chuckles, and shakes her head. “Well, no. I guess there isn’t.”

Blood wells, and he has to wipe it away before he can see what he’s working with. The splinter is ragged, the end he can grasp friable and it’s slow, frustrating work to ease away the loose bits. Her hand is still under his touch, pulse racing. He glances up, sees her eyes are closed, teeth buried in her bottom lip. 

He probes the splinter again and she flinches. “Shit, sorry,” he says, and dabs away the pearl of blood welling from the tiny wound, grabbing it again. “Hold on, I think I’ve almost got it.”

The tweezers catch hold of the wood securely this time, and he eases the splinter out from under her skin. More blood wells and he presses a square of gauze over it. “It’s out,” he says and holds it up. The sliver of wood is maybe half an inch long, the end tapered to a needle like point. He frowns. “Whoever built that fence should have known better than to leave it like this,” he complains, professional pride coming out. He’s never left a job so unfinished. _And this is exactly why,_ he thinks. 

“It feels a lot better,” she says and flexes her fingers, glad the throbbing is finally going away. “Thank you.” 

He dabs a bit of Neosporin cream on the wound and tapes a dressing over it. Her skin is warm under his fingers and he feels goosebumps rise on his skin. “You’re welcome.” He smiles. “You’ve patched me up a few times. Figure it’s time I got to return the favour.”

The bells ring, again, and they both stop to listen. It’s a call for Ambo and she groans, rubbing her eyes before she stands, good hand trailing over his shoulder. 

“Hope it’s a quick one.” He smiles, tidying the mess. “I’ll brew a fresh pot of coffee for when you get back,” he offers. 

That gets him a full, if tired, grin. “You’re the best, Matt Casey,” she says, and dashes out of the door.


End file.
